Lyrics Tar - Cavanaugh, Open Mike Eagle, Serengeti

Tar

Yeah
Was walking through the woods with a stick and a footstool
Needed some new fruit so I picked me a bushel
Say something, I’m awake and rolled this game drunk
And I can’t function, I’m all blackface and late lunches
Stomach full of Quaker State, debate '88
Tell me butterball, but touch dissolves paper plates
I had my first kid at thirty
My second kid at thirty
My third kid at thirty
My fourth kid at thirty-one
I had fun
I got down
I get down
I get down
I get down
I had the most unprofessional dream
My chest and my spleen, and all this unrest in between
Yes, finishin' move, heat check
A knee as deep as DSV and seaQuest
At recess I suggest we jest, just as a reflex
If I get too anxious, here, Frank, hold my Wheat Chex
Soundwaves broken by airplanes
In the wall units, mother’s precious cranes
Out of four, only three remains
Damn
They all fell down
Let’s get down
Let’s get down
Let’s get down
(Let's get down)
(Had my fourth kid at thirty-one)